


i'm your bad seed rising (ain't no use denying)

by amiphobic



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Con Artists, F/F, Gen, Heist, Slow Burn, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6255247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay, so you want us to hack an unhackable security system and get by undetected under the noses of trained top-tier private security guards to steal an unstealable painting that may or may not be a myth?”</p><p>Lexa considered it for a moment before nodding and saying, “That sums it up quite nicely. Questions?”</p><p>Con Artists AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dubcliq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubcliq/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is very much Leverage-inspired, but it's not quite a Leverage AU. No knowledge of the universe required. I hope you enjoy~

Lexa stepped out of her recently washed Camry and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the building across the street. Faded brick and rusty hinges on the garage doors indicated the shop had clearly seen better days. A flickering neon sign hung crookedly above the main entrance announcing _Kru Auto Repair_.

Turning, she waited for her companion to emerge from the passenger’s side. The younger girl had a slanted smile that gave her the look of someone who was in the middle of concocting an elaborate prank. She raked a hand through her loose long brown hair and slammed the car door shut. Circling the vehicle, she fixed her sharp green eyes on Lexa.

“Here, Octavia?” Lexa asked, one eyebrow lifting. “Not a particularly subtle day job.”

“Reyes and subtle don’t usually mix,” Octavia said, shrugging.

“What other insights about her do you have?”

Octavia shuffled the four folders in her arms and flipped one open, reading, “Raven Reyes, 19 years old. Dad left when she was four and Mom developed a taste for moonshine and blackjack; went right through their savings. Grew up in Arkadia’s public housing projects. Sometime before high school she started boosting cars and ended up dropping out to join an auto theft ring. Got into an accident last year while stealing a Rolls Royce. Weirdly, the official police report claims that Reyes was faultless.”

“And how many laws did you break to get that info this time?” Lexa asked. Though she sounded stern, the corner of her mouth curled up in a barely suppressed smile. Normally she’d try to be a little more disapproving, but then again, purposefully recruiting delinquents was hardly normal for Lexa.

“Oh, you know how the police just leave stuff lying around,” Octavia said casually.

“Right.”

“Anyway, Reyes suffered nerve damage in her left leg and her accomplice ended up doing a stint in Juvie. She’s been laying low ever since.”

A particularly strong breeze blew past, carrying the stench of gasoline across the block. With a scrunched expression, Lexa asked, “You want to handle the sales pitch on this one?”

“Not, like, especially.”

“Brat,” Lexa sighed and headed for the front door of the repair shop, Octavia trailing close behind.

The shop was small and dingy with old heavy metal band posters covering the walls, as if in an attempt to hide the general state of disrepair. What Lexa suspected used to be a room divider barely held up, separating the front counter and the mechanical repair section. The sounds of a TV in the background were occasionally overpowered by some choice words being shouted out.

A man with messy dirty blonde hair and rough stubble worked the cash register impatiently, shaking the drawer loose. Without looking up he asked gruffly, “Got something you need fixing?”

“Looking for someone actually,” Lexa said.

At her voice, he looked up, eyes darting from Lexa to Octavia and then back again. A slow grin made its way across his lips as he took a longer look at them.

Lexa crossed her arms reflexively in response. There was a reason Lower Arkadia wasn’t her favorite place.

“And which lucky bastard are you looking for?” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the plastic counter.

“We’re here to see Raven,” Octavia said.

“I guess hot chicks do run in packs,” he said, lecherous smile still in place.

Octavia rolled her eyes and strolled past him, saying, “We can find her ourselves, thanks.”

“Name’s Kyle if you ever want to find me instead,” he said to her back.

“She’s 17,” Lexa said as she passed him. He raised both hands innocently. "And I could kick your ass to next Sunday without breaking a sweat.”

“Scary. I like that quality in my women,” he laughed.

Without missing a beat, Lexa snapped the flat of her hand into his neck with one fast, fluid motion. He stumbled backwards, completely off guard, and floundered a little, hands on his neck as he struggled to breathe for a few seconds.

“Good thing I’m not anybody’s woman.” She didn’t spare him another glance as she followed Octavia past some older models of junked cars.

“Reyes,” Octavia called out.

Two long couches surrounded a surprisingly nice television set. A few people sat around it watching and playing a video game on the screen. The character on the TV drove a sleek silver sports car around recklessly, occasionally leaning out to shoot at incoming police cars.

 _Of course this would be what a car thief found entertaining in their time off_ , Lexa thought and rolled her eyes.

A woman who couldn’t be too much younger than Lexa pivoted on the arm of the couch, ponytail swinging. A self-assured smirk slid into place.

“Blake,” the woman—Raven, Lexa assumed—said almost fondly. “What can I do you for?”

The other mechanics paused their game to observe the exchange with interest. This was probably the most exciting thing that would happen to them all day.

“You got anywhere more private we can talk?”

“Why, you gonna propose?” Raven teased but made to take them to one of the back garages anyway. As Raven stood, Lexa caught the glint of the metal brace around her lower left leg.

“Sure, I got a proposition of sorts for you,” Octavia said, matching her tone. Her comment was met with wolf-whistles and a few jeers from Raven’s coworkers.

Raven led the way with a slight limp. Occasionally, her eyes flickered to Lexa almost self-consciously. But her body language was brash—like she didn’t give a fuck and wanted Lexa to know it.

The back garage was dimly lit and contained a single red van, clearly a work-in-progress—promising, but incomplete all the same.

“My baby,” Raven said lovingly, tilting her head towards it.

“Pile of junk, did you say?” Octavia joked.

“Her name’s Lucille, thank you very much,” Raven scowled.

Entertained with the back and forth but unwilling to spend too much time on the niceties, Lexa extended a hand towards Raven and said, “Lexa Woods. We need a wheelman.”

“Well, that’s pretty direct,” Raven said, shooting an incredulous look over Lexa’s shoulder at Octavia as if asking her _where the hell did you find this one_? “Raven Reyes. I’m flattered and all, but I’m retired.”

“You can always come out of retirement,” Octavia said, very matter-of-fact.

Raven glanced away and tugged her red jacket tighter around herself. She said, “Sorry to make you come all the way out here, but I’m done with that stuff.”

Sensing that this was a matter ill-suited for a stranger’s ears, Lexa said, “Well, thanks for your time in any case.” There were some of Indra’s work files that Lexa could look over in the car.

Octavia stepped a little closer after Lexa had departed and said quietly, “Your skill and talent are wasted here, Raven. You and I and everyone in this building knows it.”

Raven stubbornly avoided her gaze and said, “All it ever got me was in trouble and crippled.”

“So instead you’re gonna waste your days fixing faulty windshield wipers and hanging with the goon squad?”

“I’m fine with it,” she said sharply. “I’m fine with all of it. I don’t need you to try and fix me.”

“So not the point, Reyes,” Octavia said. “This job we’re offering… it’s different. It’s not about the score. This guy, he hurt someone who means a lot to me, and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him with or without your help. But if it’s with your help, it could be a fun challenge.” She paused, lips pursing thoughtfully. “And it would mean a lot to me.”

Raven scoffed, “Well, when you put it like that.” Then she sighed, long and weary, “I’ll think about it, okay? That’s all I can promise.”

“Okay,” Octavia said softly. “That’s more than enough.”

///

“She in?” Lexa asked as Octavia slipped into the passenger seat.

“Probably,” Octavia said as she buckled her seatbelt. “She’s had a rough year, but she is still the best. And the best don’t get to rest.”

“That’s not an actual saying,” Lexa said.

“Sure it is. No rest for the best.”

“It’s ‘no rest for the wicked.’ Or even ‘no rest for the weary.’ What you said, is—”

“It sounded cool in my head, okay?” Octavia said. “Just drive.”

“No rest for the best,” Lexa repeated mockingly.

“Shut up.”

“Alright, we possibly found a wheelman,” Lexa said. “What’s next on our list?”

“We gotta get a hitter.”

“That means—“

“Yup,” Octavia said, dragging the word out. “Think she’ll go easy on us considering the circumstances?”

Lexa gave her a disbelieving look.

“Fuck.”

///

Dozens of parents and siblings sat in the stands waving and cheering on the players competing down on the baseball diamond. It gave Lexa a headache. The added summer heat did no wonders for her or the girls on the field who were sweating visibly from their hairlines down to their chins. And it was only the third inning.

She felt an extra twinge of pity as she caught sight of the batting team’s coach.

“Come on, hustle! Martine, if you miss this one you’ll be on clean-up duty for a month!”

Martine—a tiny waifish girl—stepped up to the plate with hard brown eyes and her mouth set in a tight line.

“On second thought,” Octavia said, “maybe Bellamy or Miller is free—“

“She’s not that bad,” Lexa said, though she too made no move to approach.

The opposing team’s pitcher dusted off the mound with her cleats and waited for the catcher’s signal. This slight delay prompted the coach to yell, “The mound isn’t meant to be _clean_. Hurry up! Not all of us have the luxury of extreme youth!”

“But I guess we could wait until the game is over,” Lexa acquiesced. “It’s only polite.”

“And her team is going to obliterate the other one, so she’ll be in a good mood?”

Lexa raised a hand and shielded her eyes from the sun, squinting at the scoreboard across the field.

“Absolute obliteration.”

///

Six innings and a shutout (11-0) later, Lexa and Octavia had run out of excuses to avoid the coach any longer. Hesitant and antsy respectively, they hung around the dugout while the game ending speech was given.

The coach had long, wavy brown hair with blonde highlights seamlessly mixed in; she stood tall and proud in her black tee and dirty, ripped jeans. As she addressed her team, the girls stood equally at attention, hanging onto every word she barked out.

“—Ontari? And Jaz, were you stumbling around right field for any reason other than looking for your lost dignity? Sloppy, guys. This was sloppy—“

She broke off, catching sight of Octavia and Lexa.

Turning back, she said, “But it wasn’t a complete failure. You guys batted the hell out of this game. All our practices and training sessions have really paid off.” She even allowed a closed smile, a small miracle by Octavia’s estimation. “Good job. Dismissed.”

As the girls broke out into conversation with one another, she stepped out of the dugout.

“Alexandria,” she said. “Octavia.”

“Anya.”

Anya lingered on Octavia, eyes locked on hers in a challenge. Then, lightning quick, Anya’s leg struck out, sweeping Lexa off her feet. Instinctively, Octavia retaliated before Anya could do the same to her. Outmatched, Octavia’s momentum was used against her. Anya pulled on Octavia’s outstretched arm and tossed her to the ground easily.

Having landed on her back, Lexa was momentarily stunned before gathering her wits and flipped herself upright. Octavia rolled back onto her feet, and the two of them threw a punch each at Anya.

Anya caught Octavia’s fist in her right hand, open palmed, and Lexa’s wrist in her left. For a tense moment, all three simply held their positions. Finally, Anya loosened her grip, allowing both women to return to a fighting stance.

“Not bad,” Anya said. “Lexa, you got careless. Octavia, you were overeager.”

They both nodded, accepting the criticism.

Grabbing a towel, Anya slung it over her shoulder and cracked open a bottle of water. After taking a long gulp, she asked, “What’s this about?”

“Indra’s in the hospital,” Octavia said stiffly. It was always best to get straight to the point with Anya.

Anya paused mid-sip.

///

Two days later Lexa called for a meeting between the team members at Anya’s spacious two-floor apartment. The open layout and Spartan design made it an ideal planning location and home base for this operation. Octavia had let herself in, bypassing Anya’s locks easily, and Lexa followed close behind. Busy in the kitchen, Anya made no move to apprehend their somewhat unorthodox entrance.

“Not much of a security system,” Octavia commented as she surveyed the foyer.

“I’m all the security I need,” Anya said. A delectable scent flooded the apartment as she opened the oven door carefully.

“Fair,” Lexa said.

Anya set a large tray down on the granite countertop, a neat array of fresh chocolate chip cookies lined on the pan. Unable to resist, Octavia reached out only for Anya to slap her hand away.

“Wait for our guest,” Anya said.

“I’m a guest too,” Octavia huffed.

“You’re technically a home invader,” Lexa said.

“Traitor,” Octavia said. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“The side that gets me Anya’s cookies. Obviously.”

The doorbell rang before Octavia could make a snappy retort. Lexa pulled the door ajar, gesturing for Raven to enter. Raven wore her dirty work clothes: a blue tank and tight black skinny jeans. Clearly, she’d came directly from the repair shop.

“Thanks,” Raven said. As she took a look around, she whistled, “Nice digs.”

“It _is_ nice,” Anya said. “Wash your hands so it will stay nice.”

“Sheesh, okay, Mom,” Raven said, rinsing her grease-stained hands in the stainless steel sink. “Who are you, anyway?”

“She’s our hitter,” Octavia said and settled on a stool by the kitchen island.

“What, like the muscle?”

“Exactly like that,” Anya said, leaning over to squirt extra foamy soap into Raven’s hands.

“I can wash my hands myself,” Raven protested.

“Apparently not.”

“Okay, so we have a hitter. What kind of job needs a hitter?” Raven asked.

“This one,” Lexa said, gesturing to the flat screen TV at the far end of the living room. An image of a man with pale skin and combed back dark hair flickered onto the screen, smarminess oozing from every pixel. “We’re taking down Cage Wallace.”

“You’ll probably need a hacker too,” Anya said as she scooped the cookies off with a spatula and onto a clean sheet of wax paper. “And a grifter to be safe.”

Raven wiped her wet hands on a hand towel and said, “I know a hacker, he and I can handle the tech stuff.”

“A grifter,” Octavia wondered aloud. “What about Maya? She’s pretty good.”

“Studying abroad in Xi’an,” Lexa said. “Harper?”

“Probation.”

“There’s always Echo,” Anya said. Her expression was cautious, gauging Lexa’s reaction.

Lexa flinched but smoothed it over quickly, saying, “No, she’s Azgeda. She’s as likely to help us as she is to sell us out to Wallace.”

“Who else do we know?”

“Well,” Raven said slowly, “I do know someone. She’s hands down the best liar I’ve ever met… but we’ve never been on the greatest terms.”

“Call her,” Lexa said. “You don’t have to like her, you just have to be able to work amicably with her.”

“Hey, I know Octavia’s a klepto and the scary one is a hitter, but what exactly do you do? Boss us around?” Raven asked.

“I’m the one with the plan,” Lexa said.

“We all got plans.”

“Not like mine,” Lexa said with a confident smile.

“Right, sure, whatever you say,” Raven said dismissively. Still, she pulled out her phone and dialed. After a few rings, a crackle and a _hello_ could be heard. “Hey. It’s me.” A brief pause. “I’ve got some people that want you for a job.”

///

After the cookies had sufficiently cooled, Anya served them on a blue ceramic plate on the living room coffee table. Each of the four women took out laptops and smartphones, working on various projects as they waited for their possible fifth team member to show up. Thirty minutes passed without so much as a word exchanged between them before the doorbell rang once again.

Octavia leapt up, mouth full of cookie, and answered the door. A young woman of medium height with blonde hair and keen blue eyes arrived in fashionable attire: a simple white blouse, black dress pants, and sleek heels.

“Clarke,” Raven said, easing her laptop lid down.

“I hear you need a grifter,” Clarke said, ignoring Raven’s greeting.

“No,” Lexa said. “We need the _best_ grifter.”

“Sure,” Clarke said, eyes sweeping the room. Lexa could almost hear the cogs grinding in Clarke’s head as she analyzed the location and the four women. “What’s the pay like?”

“You’re Arkadian elite, aren’t you?” Anya asked and crossed her arms, eyeing Clarke critically. “Born into wealth. Probably an heiress of some sort?”

“Sure,” Clarke said with a chuckle. “I don’t like to advertise it too much though.”

“Well, Princess,” Octavia said, “if you’ve got money already, why do you care about the pay?”

“Capitalism,” Clarke shrugged, circling the kitchen. One hand dragged lazily over the cabinets. Anya narrowed her eyes, displeased. “Labor is generally exchanged for currency. Preferably paper, just so you know.”

“Lying isn’t really labor, now is it?” Octavia sneered.

“For people who supposedly need me, you’re a hostile bunch.”

“It’s not a monetary payoff for Octavia and me,” Lexa said. “But I can assure you that everyone else will be given ample remuneration.”

“Rem- Remuneration?” Raven mouthed to Octavia.

Clarke’s attention snapped to Lexa, as if only fully realizing her presence now.

She approached Lexa directly, chin lifting, and said, “I know the rest of them. Raven Reyes, the youngest car booster to make it with the pro fence rings since ‘Baby Face’ Nelson. With a penchant for finding scapegoats in her own ring of friends—“

“That’s a flat out lie,” Raven said.

Again, Clarke disregarded Raven and continued on, “Anya Lin, ex-spec ops, classified military operations extraordinaire turned part-time criminal, part-time kiddie softball coach.”

Anya shrugged, neither confirming nor refuting the description.

“Octavia Blake, the illegitimate child of Aurora Blake, late wife of millionaire Julian Blake. Bounced around foster care for a while, complicated by the fact that her main hobbies are pickpocketing and good old-fashioned B&E.”

“I like hiking too,” Octavia defended.

“But you,” Clarke said, focused on Lexa, “I don’t know you. You’re an unknown variable.”

“Just the way I like it,” Lexa said.

They stared each other down. This grifter, Clarke, had quick, assessing eyes, and Lexa willed her stoic façade to hold.

“Lexa Woods,” Octavia interjected. “Junior at Polis Uni, business and poli sci double major. Stays on the other side of the law, barely even jay-walks. There, you know her now.”

Clarke’s gaze remained on Lexa for a second or two longer.

“This is personal, right?” Clarke asked, addressing the rest of the team. “Whatever scam or con you want me in on. It’s personal.”

Lexa was surprised to find Anya, Octavia, and Raven turn to her expectantly for their collective answer. She’d declared herself leader of the team and this was the first step in proving it.

“Yes. But I’m more than capable of separating feelings from decisions.”

“Still. I don’t do revenge cons with emotional stakes,” Clarke said. “They always go bad.”

“Well, that’s why we’ve assembled the best,” Octavia said.

Raven leaned back in her chair with a smirk, like she thought “the best” didn’t even begin to cover it. To her left, Anya remained tight-lipped, seemingly trusting Lexa’s recruitment tactics.

“What we’re trying to pull off here _is_ reckless, maybe even impossible,” Lexa acknowledged. Tilting her head slightly, she continued, “But it’s also going to be the biggest thing ever attempted this side of Mount Weather. If you want to sit it out and continue with your little riskless cons—”

“Little riskless cons?” Clarke asked, jaw clenching.

“—none of us will blame you,” Lexa said.

“I talked ArkPharma out of ten thousand dollars when I was fourteen,” Clarke said. “ _Talked_.”

“I’m aware of your credentials,” Lexa said, waving it off. “But nothing any of us have accomplished individually can match up to what we can do together. And I know what we can do together.”

Clarke expelled a derisive huff.

“Cage Wallace has been untouchable for years, shielded by his father’s company,” Lexa said, steely-eyed. “We’re going to destroy the indestructible. Are you in?” She extended her hand towards Clarke.

“Cage Wallace?” Clarke asked, attention piqued. “You’re going to destroy him?”

“Annihilate him,” Lexa confirmed.

Lexa didn’t exactly trust the way Clarke’s expression changed. Like she had an ulterior motive and wasn’t going to bother to hide it.

“Fine,” Clarke said, shaking Lexa’s hand firmly. “Count me in.”

* * *

_Three days earlier…_

There were three people following her.

She wasn’t stupid, and they weren’t even a little inconspicuous. If the situation were different—if she wasn’t walking to the bus stop alone on a quiet night—she would’ve been offended at the amateur tactics her tails employed. As it was, however, she thought caution on her end might be a wiser strategy than disdain.

Discreetly, she dialed three numbers, muffling the sound with her coat.

“ _911 emergency service, Kat speaking. What is your emergency_?”

Raising the phone to her ear, she turned to face her stalkers with an eerily calm demeanor. “Three men are following me. They’re all around six feet, clean shaven, and wearing lots of black. I’m nearing the corner of Applewood and Birch.”

The tallest man lashed forward hurriedly. She easily sidestepped his attack.

“The big one just tried to hit me,” she told emergency operator Kat, annoyed.

“ _Okay, Applewood and Birch. Officers are—_ “

The second one lunged forward and aimed his fist towards her neck, forcing her to block it with her left arm. As the first one attacked again her phone slipped from her grasp. It clattered as it hit the pavement.

The third man hung back and wordlessly watched the fight unfold, one hand in the pocket of his jacket. Though the sky loomed dark and cloudy overhead, the nearby streetlights illuminated just enough for her to glimpse a peek at his face. He had dark slits for eyes and a hard edge to his jawline.

“You.” Shaking with rage and recognition, she shrugged off the two other men and charged for the leader.

He withdrew his hand, revealing a sleek black pistol, but she didn’t stop until her elbow connected with his gut. The tip of the gun barely touched her shoulder before he staggered backwards with a quiet groan of pain.

“Mrs. Woods, I’d advise you not to do that again,” he said a little breathlessly.

“Are you going to shoot me, Mr. Emerson?”

Tilting his head, he said, “Shoot you? No, no, I’m not going to hurt you. But your daughters?” She stiffened, and he knew he had her there. “They seem like the type who look for trouble.”

She was still shaking, but this time it was more than just anger.

“What do you want?” Her words came out low and soft. Deadly, Emerson thought.

Pain blossomed from the back of her head as one of the lackey’s fists connected with her skull. The other kicked her in the ribs as she fell forward. Blow after blow rained down until she stopped keeping track.

“Your silence,” Emerson said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the relentless [dubcliq](http://dubcliq.tumblr.com/). She turned eleventy billion just a few days ago, so wish her a happy birthday~
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read~ Leave a comment if you feel so inclined.
> 
> Part 2 to follow in four days.


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was made possible by the lovely, forgetful [dubcliq](http://dubcliq.tumblr.com/), who kindly beta'd this. Yes, I made her work for this supposed gift.
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

The newly assembled team agreed to reconvene at Anya’s the next day. Lexa stayed overnight, busy compiling information and eking out a strategy. When Octavia rolled in at noon she found Lexa sprawled out on the couch, various folders and documents spread out in a semicircle around her position.

“This is how serial killers get started,” Octavia said, dropping down on the adjacent loveseat.

“Actually,” Lexa said, still intensely focused on her laptop screen, “this is called research.”

Anya descended the tight spiral staircase in the middle of the apartment having obviously just woken. Barely sparing a glance to either Lexa or Octavia, she immediately padded to the kitchen clad only in her underwear and a loose t-shirt that bared her left shoulder.

“I made some oolong ten minutes ago,” Lexa said, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the island.

Anya hummed.

“Suck-up,” Octavia said.

“Considerate,” Lexa corrected.

Not too long afterwards, Raven stomped in with a friend in tow. He had kind eyes and dark hair swooped to the side. Slung low across his chest and down to his side was the strap of a grey messenger bag, nearly bursting at its seams with all it had to hold.

“Hey,” Raven said, “this is Monty, he’s the—“

As she turned and caught sight of the scantily clad Anya savoring a warm mug of tea, Raven’s words trailed off.

“—bomb-ass hacker,” Monty finished for her.

“Uh. Yeah, that,” Raven said, attention fixated on Anya’s… personality.

Apparently well-accustomed with her easily distracted nature, Monty simply pushed Raven by the small of her back into the living room. Anya raised both arms, stretching. The hem of her shirt rose with the motion as well, baring her abdomen.

Raven stumbled.

“Smooth, Reyes,” Octavia said.

As Anya headed up the staircase to her bedroom, Lexa caught a deep smirk partially hidden by the mug against her lips.

Monty and Raven made two more trips down to the parking lot and back up with more and more tech. Three black monitors were set up in the living room around Lexa with another one at Anya’s plain oak desk. As Raven calibrated the monitors individually, Monty plugged a small device into Anya’s television and fiddled around with the settings.

Anya returned down to the main level once again, this time in fresh clothes, and stopped at the base of the steps. She eyed Monty and Raven’s activity suspiciously. As Raven was obviously avoiding eye contact with Anya, only Monty turned to face her scrutiny.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Just let it happen,” Octavia said.

“Absolutely not,” Anya said. “My house, my rules.”

“My specialty, my equipment,” Monty shot back immediately.

Anya glared at him.

“Leave it,” Lexa said, waving a hand dismissively.

To Raven’s surprise, Anya obeyed.

“Just make sure it’s all cleared out after the job’s done,” Anya hissed to Lexa as she took a seat at the desk.

“Well uh, get comfy,” Raven said, gesturing. “We’re starting the briefing.”

“Aren’t we missing the princess?” Octavia asked as she sat up properly.

“Clarke?” Raven chuckled, “Girl only arrives on time if there’s free food.”

Monty nodded in agreement and said, “Raven e-mailed her everything that we’re going to cover in the first few minutes anyway.”

“Then let’s begin,” Lexa said, rising to her feet carefully. She grabbed the papers around her and stacked them into one neat pile on the coffee table. Heading to the front of the room, she took the clicker from Monty and pointed it at the television.

A fairly recent photograph popped onto the screen; the subject had a dignified look about her and dark eyes that commanded respect.

“Indra Woods,” Lexa said. “My aunt and Octavia’s foster mother. Six days ago she was assaulted by three men while walking to her bus stop. They broke two of her ribs and her left wrist during the fight.”

Raven and Monty got situated on the newly unoccupied couch, adjusting the monitors to their positions. With a flick of her wrist, Lexa brought up a clip of grainy surveillance footage.

“Though Indra refused to cooperate, Monty did me the favor of obtaining local security footage of that night. He also ameliorated the quality for me, so I could identify the assailants,” Lexa said. She pulled up photos of three men, all with quiet and menacing expressions. “Carl Emerson, Bobby Whitman, and Aaron Langston.”

“Ameliorated? Who says that out loud?” Raven asked Monty quietly. He shrugged. Raven rolled her eyes.

“Private security,” Anya said, analyzing their movements on her monitor. “Ex-marines.”

“All three are employed by Cage Wallace, the son of Mount Weather Industries’ CEO, Dante Wallace. Dante is known for his sagacious manner and business-savvy. Cage, on the other hand, was given control of the pharmaceuticals division last year and still has nothing to show for it despite his $75 million investment,” Lexa said, flipping through a few more slides.

“Sa—sagacious?” Raven mouthed at Octavia incredulously. Octavia shrugged.

“I wasn’t able to get access to Indra’s office at MW Industries,” Lexa said. “But Octavia managed to swipe Indra’s work laptop from the men who ransacked their house.”

“And I was able to find what Mrs. Woods was working on,” Monty said, casting his monitor’s information onto the big screen. “It seems that she’d stumbled upon one of Cage’s big projects. Since she didn’t have access to most of the info, I can only guess that it was some sort of serum. Beyond that, I’m not sure what exactly she was investigating.”

“Something big enough for her to be attacked,” Octavia said, clenching her jaw tightly.

Anya folded her hands across her lap. With a dark but muted look in her eyes, she asked, “So, what are we going to do about it?”

“MW Industries has state of the art security systems,” Monty said. “I don’t have the tech or the team needed to hack it. They’ve also got a huge private security force. Extensive background checks are done on both employees and visitors.”

“That means we can’t risk a direct break-in or con,” Lexa said. Monty pulled up a flier on the screen. “However, fortunately for us, Cage is hosting a function next week at Polis’ Art Museum in a private wing. His father, Dante, has a massive personal collection of art that he’s never shown to the public before. For this event, he’s loaning several paintings to Cage.”

“Even better: word on the street is that Cage is planning to unveil a new line of products with his colleague Dr. Lorelei Tsing at the party,” Monty said.

“Word on the street?” Octavia asked. “How do you get this kind of word on the street?”

Monty nervously looked at Raven for his cue. Only after she nudged his knee with hers did he speak.

“My mom does business with the Wallace family sometimes,” he said reluctantly.

Anya tensed.

“He can be trusted,” Raven said, holding her hands up peaceably.

“What, did he give you his word?” Anya asked scathingly.

Lexa maneuvered herself between Anya and Monty. She said, “Octavia trusts Raven, and Raven trusts Monty. That’s good enough for me.”

Stepping between Anya and her intended prey was never a clever move, but Lexa stood her ground.

Several rhythmic knocks tapped loudly on the front door, interrupting the tense moment.

“Door’s unlocked,” Octavia called.

In a whoosh of blonde hair and bright colors, Clarke entered with what looked like a half-eaten piece of pizza crust between her teeth and a square box proclaiming _Gianni’s Pizza!_ balanced precariously on one hand. She was followed by a tall young man with a friendly face and eyes that hinted at a more mature nature than his companion. Clarke and her friend set their boxes down on the island countertop. From halfway across the kitchen Clarke tossed her crust high and into the trash.

As she and her friend high-fived—once up top and once again down low—Clarke said, “Wells, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Wells.”

Monty reached his fist up over the couch to bump Wells’.

“Monty, my man,” Wells said and then waved to the rest of the room.

“I see we’re throwing our trust around,” Anya scowled, looking at Lexa pointedly.

Lexa cleared her throat uncomfortably. Misplaced trust, well, she understood the dangers of that better than anyone. So yes, they were bringing a lot of people in on it. But it was necessary. She couldn’t let her fears get the better of her.

“I thought you said free food was the key to get her here,” Octavia said to Raven. “You didn’t say she’d buy if we didn’t provide.”

Raven laughed and said, “You think she bought that? Nah, Clarke doesn’t pay for anything with her own money.”

“Help yourself,” Wells said, sweeping his arm towards the kitchen dramatically. “I think we got pepperoni, veggie, cheese, and Hawaiian.”

Octavia bounced up and off the loveseat to grab two slices.

“Am I running a massive daycare here?” Anya asked, frowning.

“Shut up and eat the pizza,” Octavia said, passing her the veggie pizza box.

“Anyway,” Clarke said as she slumped onto the couch next to Monty, “what’re we up to?”

“You’re late, Clarke,” Lexa said, the ending ‘k’ harsh and clipped in her mouth.

The room’s chatter fell to a hush. Clarke raised an impeccable eyebrow, unimpressed by Lexa’s attempt at being authoritative. Leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, Clarke said, “I arrived exactly when I meant to.”

The team’s bonds were currently tenuous at best, Lexa knew—and suspected Clarke was acutely aware of this as well. Her leadership could handle a challenge from Clarke but only if she dealt with this carefully.

“You’re probably used to doing and getting whatever you want, but this isn’t some cushy Arkadian corporation where the supervisor is scared of your parents,” Lexa said, enunciating each word with a bite. “Your name and money will only get you so far on this team.”

“My background has nothing to do with my work ethic,” Clarke said. Raven coughed. “I knew you’d bore with unnecessary background information before getting down to the dirty details.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes and stepped towards Clarke, towering over her.

“A good heist is like sex,” Clarke said with a cheeky grin. “The background information is like small talk. What you want is to get right to the foreplay. Teasing and breathless, looking at the problem from every angle. Mapping out the perfect path to your goal.”

Being vaguely aware that Clarke was testing the waters, pushing at Lexa’s boundaries, did nothing to help Lexa’s immediate reaction to her words. A deep blush stained her cheeks and Lexa’s response died out in stammers.

“Do you guys need the room to yourselves?” Raven asked, fanning herself with one of Lexa’s manila folders exaggeratedly.

Clarke’s grin settled into a smirk. Lexa, for one, found it extremely unattractive.

“Shut up and eat your pizza,” Lexa said, echoing Octavia, and found her composure again. Best strategy here was to just move on.

“Anyway,” Monty said, drawing the word out. He brought up extensive floor plans and other information on all the monitors and the big screen. “Dante famously acquired several Caravaggios around a decade back. According to an enduring rumor, one of those paintings is actually the _Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence_.”

“No way,” Clarke said adamantly, attention quickly diverted from teasing Lexa. “That’s been missing for like 45 years. He must have one of the reconstructed versions.”

“I hacked into the museum’s printer queue,” Monty said. “They’re printing out the labels for the packages with codes. All of Dante’s Caravaggios can be accounted for except one which they’re using a blank label for.”

“If Dante had the original _Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence_ , he would slap so much security on it we’d never be able to steal it,” Clarke maintained. “He’d have it in a private vault at all times.”

“They’re not transporting the blank label package to the museum until the night before,” Monty said. “Unless someone—like me—was specifically looking for this, they wouldn’t know how much it’s worth.”

Lexa said, “The best security is anonymity.”

“Okay,” Raven said. “Sure, let’s say it’s actually the original Cara-whatever painting. What’ll we do with it? What kind of fence around here is big enough to handle this stuff?”

“Murphy?”

“No,” Lexa said. “We won’t find anyone willing to touch the Caravaggio. What we’re going to do is ransom it back to Cage that very same night. He can’t let his father find out that he let it get stolen under his watch, especially not during the big event.”

“That’s your master plan?” Clarke asked. “Steal a painting and ransom it back. So simple I almost want to say it’s clever.”

“It’s why she’s not taking any of the payoff,” Octavia cracked.

“You’re not taking any of it either,” Raven reminded her. “What does that say about your skills?”

Octavia dangled Raven’s watch and chain wallet in front of her. Hands flying to her empty pockets, Raven glowered at Octavia.

“Cage is the sort of lowlife that doesn’t really care about anybody. He’d just as soon feed his father to the wolves if he could turn a profit. The real way to hurt somebody like him is to hurt their wallet,” Lexa said. “So money, specifically Cage’s money, is the goal. My planning skills are a little focused on the actual heist portion of this to delve further into his entitled incompetent psyche.”

“Alright, what’s the plan for the heist then?”

“Monty, Wells, you’re on identities,” Lexa said. “We need ones for Clarke, Anya, Octavia, and Raven.”

“On it,” Monty said.

“You also a computer nerd?” Octavia asked Wells.

“Nah,” he said with a wide smile. “I issue alternative government documents.”

“ID forger,” Clarke stage-whispered.

“Raven, you’re on communications,” Lexa continued. “Find some earbuds, set up a hub, you know the drill.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Clarke and Anya, you guys need to trick the party planner out of his job,” Lexa said. “Anya, you’ll take over as the planner; Clarke will be your assistant.”

Anya nodded. Clarke gave no indication that she’d heard, but Lexa wasn’t one to micromanage. Lexa had done enough to prove her leadership, now it was her team’s turn to demonstrate their capabilities.

“I’ll run some errands and then visit Indra in the hospital,” Lexa said and picked up her purse. “Meet back here at 9.”

Octavia followed her out and asked with a mouth full of pepperoni and cheese, “What about me?”

“How do you feel about internships?”

“Paid or unpaid?”

Lexa snorted and said, “This is 2016. Of course I mean unpaid.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Octavia said.

“Too bad, you’re applying for one anyway. Chin up, it’ll look good on a CV.”

Octavia groaned.

///

The drive down to Eventful Events (by far the worst business name Clarke had ever heard of) was uneventful aside from a quick conversation with Anya that had left Clarke more than a little terrified.

(“Why do you have a bag of lye in your backseat?”

“You mean you don’t?”)

In fact, Clarke was about 90% certain that Lexa had paired her up with Anya as petty retribution for Clarke’s snark during the briefing.

Whatever. Clarke could be professional about this.

“Pull up over there,” Clarke said, pointing at a side street not too far from their destination.

Anya maneuvered her Jeep Wrangler smoothly into position and shifted into park. As the car stopped with a small lurch, Clarke dialed the number for Eventful Events on her phone.

“Hello,” Clarke said, slipping into a formal New England accent. “This is Callie Cartwig of the Arkadian Cartwigs. Yes, those Cartwigs.”

“ _Oh, Ms. Cartwig! Yes, how may I help you today?_ ”

“I was at the most dreadful soirée the other week. I mean pink lace streamers, what are we, French? And my god, the seating arrangements! Who in their right mind puts Dr. Jackson’s wife and mistress back to back?” Clarke drawled. “Anyway, that’s how I ended up swearing off Radiant Designs. But all my events in the upcoming two months are booked by them. If I can’t find a replacement planner I’ll have to cancel everything.” She sighed. “What’s a hostess to do, you know?”

“ _Well we can definitely move some stuff around to accommodate your schedule_ ,” the receptionist said.

“Oh, could you? And I definitely need to see some samples from your planners. After the Radiant Design debacle I’m just a little short on trust. I know you understand.”

“ _Yes, of course, Ms. Cartwig. Would you like us to come to you or…?_ ”

“No, that’s alright, I’ve sent my assistant, Lacey or Shelly or something. She’s got an impeccable eye for design and color, I swear. She’ll choose the perfect planner for me.”

“ _Sounds good. We’ll have everything ready for her._ ”

“Okay, buh-bye now,” Clarke said with a half-hearted smile and hung up. Then to Anya, she asked, “Can I borrow your shirt?”

Anya waited a beat, gauging Clarke’s request. Then she lifted the hem of her top and slipped it off, handing it over to Clarke.

“That was… surprisingly non-confrontational,” Clarke said, accepting the proffered garment. “Thanks.”

“Anything else?” Anya asked.

“Put on my blouse and this skirt,” Clarke said, digging deep into her purse to find the black skirt.

Switching her blouse for Anya’s shirt, Clarke was thankful for the extra space in the jeep. Anya moved the driver seat back for more room as she followed Clarke’s directives. Clarke bent once again to retrieve a hair tie, a tube of lipstick, and two pairs of glasses from her purse. She tossed one pair to Anya and donned the other. Carefully, Clarke applied a quick layer of dark red to her lips and blotted on a post-it note.

As she tied her hair up in a ponytail, Clarke said, “Okay, so here’s the scam—“

“The Foreign Replacement?” Anya cut in.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, surprise clear.

“This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“I guess you guys really are the best,” Clarke said begrudgingly.

“You wanna do the Chinese variant? Or the Russian?”

“You can do the Russian variant?”

Anya quirked a half-smile.

///

As she crossed the street, Clarke braided her hair in a tight single plait. Her usual confident saunter turned into a militant stride.

Metal bar cool against her hand, Clarke pushed the front doors open. The lobby area was quite small, cluttered even. Employees bustled about with large stacks of binders and swatches in hand, chattering away inanely.

Clarke zeroed in on the secretary. He was older than Clarke, she’d peg him as late 20s or at most early 30s. Matted down chestnut brown hair, lanky limbs, bad skin--pink and blotchy. His body language indicated that he was fairly inexperienced with his job. A new hire from the past month or so from the looks of it. Perfect.

She made a beeline for him, eyes narrowed and expression severe. Throwing her purse on the high counter, Clarke said, “Garrett Fulcher, now.”

The secretary looked at her, mouth slightly agape, confusion evident. Snapping her fingers, Clarke made a show of checking her phone.

“Uh, he’s currently taking an appointment and won’t be free until around 4,” he said, fumbling with the papers on his desk.

“Did I ask about his schedule?” Clarke demanded, mouth in a straight strict line. “No. No, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know how else I can help--”

With an exaggerated eye roll she said, “Listen honey, I’m Callie Cartwig’s assistant. Cartwig. I was told you’d be expecting me?”

“Yes, of course,” he stammered, “but that’s to meet with Ms. Karpinski, the manager.”

“Did I say I wanted to meet your goddamn manager? No. I did not. I said Garrett Fulcher. Garrett. Fulcher.”

“I really can’t--”

Clarke waved her hand impatiently in front of his face and said, “Bah, bah, no. Stop talking. Go tell him who’s here.”

Clearly at a loss for what the appropriate course of action was here, he decided to simply do as he was told. You could always count on the worker drone mindset, Clarke thought, satisfied. As the secretary rushed past her to find Fulcher, Anya simultaneously brushed past Clarke, subtly drawing her attention.

Anya was utterly professional in stance and expression, back straight, gaze imposing. The clothing that Clarke had lent her certainly added to the overall character. She walked straight into the cubicle portion of the offices without breaking stride. Taking the cubicle across from Fulcher’s office, she looked as if she belonged exactly there. Certainly, no one stopped to question it.

Soon after, the secretary returned, face flushed and ushered her towards Fulcher’s office.

“I’m so sorry for the wait, ma’am. Please, follow me.”

For her part, Clarke played the exasperated tone just right, muttering under her breath, “Poor listening skills, honestly.”

///

The cubicle Anya chose was cramped, with papers crammed into every available corner. Garbage spilled out of the full waste basket, leaking an unpleasant odor. Anya wrinkled her nose and pulled out a small notebook from her pocket. From the corner of her eye she spied Clarke entering the party planner’s office.

Six minutes passed before anyone noticed that her presence was an irregularity.

“Hey, I think you might be in the wrong cubicle,” said a heavy-set woman with a hesitant but friendly smile. “This is actually my desk.”

Anya stared at her, blinking slowly.

“Are you new? It’s pretty easy to get lost your first week,” the woman said kindly and reached out one hand. “Here, tell me where you’re supposed to be and I’ll show you the way.”

“ _Ya nee paneemayoo_ ,” Anya said. Then with a thick accent, “Apologies, my English needs work.”

“No need to apologize,” the woman said. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Am here for Mr. Fulcher,” Anya said, pretending to check her notebook for the name. “For notes.”

“Oh, Garrett. His office is right over here, come with me,” she said.

If only they were all this easy, Anya thought.

///

“Ah, Miss…?”

“Call me Shelby,” Clarke said.

“Please, take a seat,” Fulcher said, gesturing towards his guest chairs.

Clarke acquiesced and said, “Thank you, Mr. Fulcher. Now I’m sure you know by now that I’m here on Callie Cartwig’s behalf.”

“Yes, Patrick up front told me a little,” he said politely, as if she hadn’t just practically had his previous client thrown out half an hour early. “I heard about Ms. Cartwig’s problem with her upcoming events.”

“Good,” Clarke said curtly. “She’s in desperate and immediate need for a planner for her next two weeks.”

“Well, I’m honestly flattered,” he said and folded one hand over the other, “but I’m unfortunately already booked.”

“What, with Wallace’s little shindig next week?” Clarke asked with a breezy laugh. “Everyone knows Cage Wallace has no loyalty in business. I heard he’s planning on replacing you after most of the prep is done just so he can say he got his event done by some fancy Eurasian planner without having to pay out the whole thing.”

Fulcher clenched his jaw, clearly considering how probable her suggestion was. After a few moments of contemplation he said, “The majority of the legwork is already done, Shelby. If he was going to replace me, he’d have done it already. Now, if you don’t mind--”

“I do mind,” Clarke said. “Look, Fulcher. We both know Callie Cartwig hosts the most events per year. A Cartwig event is to events what Adele is to the music industry. You get on Ms. Cartwig’s payroll, you’re set. You have your choice of planning jobs from now until forever. Your children’s children will have the choice of planning jobs from now until forever.”

“I can’t just cancel on Wallace,” Fulcher protested.

Hooked.

“Alright,” Clarke said, rising to her feet. She retrieved a pen and napkin from her purse and scribbled down a phone number. “Call me when you decide you can.”

Anya was escorted in as Clarke was on her way out. Looking Anya up and down purposefully, Clarke threw a knowing look at Fulcher before departing.

The Russian variant was the most effective version of the Foreign Replacement in Clarke’s opinion. It involved a lot of posturing and laconic Russian speech from the shill. Usually, she wouldn’t trust even a seasoned grifter to pull it off, but she was curious to see exactly how good Anya was at her job.

While Clarke waited for Anya in the Jeep, she made a quick call to the real Callie Cartwig.

“... _hello, Callie Cartwig speaking_.”

“Hey, Callie. It’s your favorite goddaughter,” Clarke said as cheerily as she could manage.

Callie expelled a long suffering sigh, a testament to how well and long she’d known Clarke. “ _What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?_ ”

“No trouble,” Clarke said. “I’m an honest citizen.”

“ _Riiiight_.”

“You just probably have to hire Garrett Fulcher from Eventful Events for your next four events,” Clarke said. “And a casual aside from that, have I mentioned that I’m your favorite goddaughter?”

“ _Garrett Fulcher? Eventful Events? I’ve never even heard of-- what’s going on?_ ”

“Great, you’re caught up,” Clarke said cheekily.

Callie sighed again, this time more a huff than anything. “ _This is what I get for teaching you everything I know_.”

“Thanks, Callie!”

“ _I better be getting a fantastic birthday gift this year_ ,” Callie said, mock sternly.

“And Christmas gift,” Clarke said.

“ _Take care now_ ,” Callie said. “ _And don’t get caught. And don’t tell your mother._ ”

The moment she hung up, her spare phone beeped with a call from a local phone number. Clarke swiped right and said, “Hello, Shelby speaking.”

“ _When does Ms. Cartwig want me to start?_ ”

Clarke smirked.

(On the drive back, Clarke’s curiosity got the best of her and she ended up asking Anya, “So how’d you pull it off?”

“I said hello and then I stared at him until he gave me his notes on the Wallace function,” Anya replied shortly.

Clarke laughed, assuming she was joking. When it became clear that Anya was, in fact, not the joking type, Clarke said, “No, really. How’d you do it?”

Having stopped at a red light, Anya turned to Clarke and stared, hard and unforgiving.

“... nevermind,” Clarke said in a small voice. “I get it now.”)

///

As agreed, the team touched base in the evening. Being the only legally employed adult, Anya had deigned to buy enough neapolitan ice cream for everyone.

“How do you even afford this place?” Raven asked between impossibly large spoonfuls.

“Coaching softball is a real good career nowadays, haven’t you heard?” Octavia said sarcastically.

Anya gave Raven a dark look, the same one she’d used on Clarke, and said, “You don’t wanna know how I make my money.”

Raven gulped.

(“She’s a bookie,” Octavia whispered later. “She just likes pretending she does scary shit for a living.”)

After the last member arrived (predictably Clarke), Raven distributed small earbuds, colored to match the individual’s skin color.

“Works off your jaw vibrations, so it’ll even pick up if you whisper,” Raven explained. “To turn it on and off, just press your thumb against the end. I’ve matched each one to your thumbprint, so anyone else does that, it won’t work.”

Octavia tossed hers up and down in one hand, each throw more reckless than the last.

“That means no trading with anyone else,” Raven said. “That includes you, Clarke, Wells.”

Caught red-handed, Wells and Clarke exchanged their earbuds back.

“Here,” Monty said next, handing manila envelopes to Octavia, Anya, Clarke, and Raven. “You’ve all got driver’s licenses and debit cards in there. The accounts in your fake names only have around $200 each, so don’t go overboard. Anya, you’ve got a Russian passport and work visa in there too.”

“Those were the hardest to fake,” Wells said. Turning to Clarke, he said, “Angel, why you gotta choose Russia? Those won’t hold up long under actual scrutiny.”

“Anya’s call,” Clarke said.

“My Mandarin and Cantonese are rustier than my Russian,” Anya shrugged.

“Fair ‘nough.”

“Raven, we insured your van under your fake identity,” Monty said. “Papers are all in there. We also got you a disability ID card and license plates.”

“Best parking!” Raven whooped.

“Clarke, I got you a wireless PDA that’s synced up with the rest of our comms,” Monty continued. “Also slipped in a Subway punch card I found on the street.”

Gasping with excitement, Clarke gave Monty a sloppy kiss on his cheek and said, “You’re the best.”

“Octavia, you’ve got a Polis U card in there as well as an Arkadia Public Library card.”

“Like she reads,” Lexa said, chuckling.

“Sometimes I read Garfield,” Octavia defended.

Lexa shared a knowing and amused look with Anya. Then, Lexa stood and took command of the front of the room.

“Good, we’ve got comms and identities,” Lexa said. “I know we didn’t discuss payment, but Monty, Wells, you’ll both get a cut.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Wells said graciously. “The Jaha name doesn’t need to be further soiled by my questionable hobbies.”

“Jaha?” Lexa asked, eyebrows raising. “As in Governor Jaha?”

“Something like that,” Wells said, waving it off, like being related to a governor was an universal experience.

“The fact that you still turned out a criminal makes me feel a lot better about myself,” Octavia said, plastic spoon dangling from her mouth.

“Just go my route,” Clarke said, slinging an arm around Wells’ neck. With her free hand she swiped across the air, mimicking a headline, “Griffin Heiress Buys Strip Club, Too Busy With Private Dance to Comment.”

“‘Buys’ is misleading,” Wells said.

“Griffin Heiress Swindles?”

“Steals?”

“Borrows?”

Clarke waved off the suggestions. “Money was exchanged, I think that constitutes as buying.”

“Wasn’t even your money,” Wells muttered.

“Details,” Clarke said.

“Anya,” Lexa said, redirecting the conversation, “how were things on your and Clarke’s end?”

“And why don’t you ask me?” Clarke asked, interrupting Anya. “Am I too unreliable for you, Captain?”

“Captain?” Lexa tilted her head.

“You like the sound of that?” Clarke asked. “Or maybe, Commander?” Her tongue curled over the 'r', almost sensually. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes gave away her intent.

This time, Lexa was prepared and managed to remain impassive. Still, Clarke’s curving smile had Lexa’s insides twisting--not unpleasantly to her dismay.

“I’ll take it,” Lexa said as casually as she could manage. “I asked Anya because she stays on topic.”

“Speaking of staying on topic,” Anya said, “Clarke and I ran the Foreign Replacement successfully. We’ll be casing the museum tomorrow bright and early.”

“And I’ll be there in the afternoon,” Octavia said glumly, “doing archival work in the basement.”

“Excellent work everyone,” Lexa said and clasped her hands behind her back. “Now let’s go ruin Cage Wallace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, I am not simply bad at math, I got a little behind schedule. Thank you for your patience. And an extra thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments. I always appreciate it.
> 
> Part 3 to follow in a week (let's see if I can be punctual this time around).


	3. III.

A seemingly innocuous van sat, parked in space 1B, with the words Eventful Events emblazoned on both sides in a fresh coat of white paint. In the small parking booth not too far from the vehicle, Nathan Miller—22, devilishly handsome, and laidback as hell—perched on a rickety chair, stuffing his face with a raspberry jam-filled donut. He stretched, back arching, arms reaching up and backwards.

“ _You always slack off like this, Miller?_ ” Raven’s voice, familiar and fond, was clear in his ear, transmitted over the newly acquired earbud.

Miller smiled that smile he knew was roguish and charming (and damn, Han Solo had nothing on him). In a drawl, he responded, “Only when it involves impressing a certain cute hacker.”

“ _That certain cute hacker can definitely hear you_ ,” Raven said.

“Oh, I know.”

“ _Would you like us to put this operation on hold while you woo me?_ ” Monty asked. Man, could he be any more adorable?

“That’d be ideal,” Miller said, “but I suppose timing is key with these matters.”

“ _Hey, Casanova, I don’t know if you know this, but it’s very tricky counting cams and sensors when I have a bad pick-up artist prattling in my ear_ ,” Octavia said sharply but not unkindly.

“I’d like to think I qualify for ‘mediocre pick-up artist’ at least.”

“ _You know you’re only here because we couldn’t take the chance that Lucille would draw unwanted attention, right?_ ” Raven asked.

“I heard something about it,” he said and pulled out his phone to check his messages. “Who’s Lucille?”

“ _My baby_.” — “ _Her damn van_.”

“Besides, my boy Bellamy wanted me to look out for his baby sis,” Miller continued a little absently. “Wasn’t gonna let him down.”

“ _You’ve done enough looking out_ ,” Octavia said. In his head he could clearly envision the perpetual scowl that she always wore around him and Bellamy. “ _So stay off comms and just… I don’t know, be inconspicuous_.”

“Nap. Got it,” he said and tapped the end of the earbud with his thumb.

///

Without the cacophony that accompanied the multitude of team members, Anya’s apartment seemed empty—lonely, Lexa might have gone as far to say. But they needed all hands on deck, so Lexa was the only one left in the makeshift command center. She sat on the couch opposite the TV with a monitor on the coffee table and a laptop on one leg.

“Monty, you and Raven in position?”

“ _Yep. The van’s a good cover for me._ ”

“Where are we on surveillance?”

“ _I’ve remotely accessed their security cam feeds and am streaming them to your monitor right… now_ ,” Monty said.

“I’ll figure out our blind spots,” Lexa said, grabbing a spare notebook and pencil. “How is the archival work, Octavia?”

Octavia groaned and said under her breath, “ _I’ve xeroxed a million and one files. And every time someone asks for something, the name is inevitably in Ancient Greek or Arabic or something else I don’t speak or read._ ”

“Yes, I believe I’ve heard of this before. What’s the term? Honest work?”

“ _Ha. Ha. Fuck off_.”

 _“What’s so good about honest work anyway_?” Clarke joined in. “ _It’s underpaid, usually exploited, and makes so much less money than dishonest work._ ”

“ _What would you know about exploited work?_ ” Octavia challenged. “ _You probably live in a mansion with a lakeside view so you can keep an eye on your yacht at all times_.”

“ _Actually, I live on a yacht with a landside view so I can keep an eye on my numerous mansions_ ,” Clarke said dryly.

“ _Rich people definitely know about exploitation, Octavia_ ,” Anya said dully. “ _How else do you think they get rich?_ ”

“ _Please_ ,” Clarke said, “ _not everyone who makes a lot of money—_ ”

“Did you just #NotAllRichPeople us?” Lexa asked.

“ _She definitely did_ ,” Monty said.

“ _Shut up, Monty. You’re worth more money than me_ ,” Clarke said.

“ _Yeah, but I stayed out of the convo like any smart person of means would_.”

“ _Let’s just focus on the job, why don’t we_?” Clarke huffed.

“If only I’d known sooner that all it took was a little teasing about your wealth to get you to take this job seriously,” Lexa said, smiling.

“ _Wow, look at the time. Anya and I have to make our debut as party planners. Talk to you guys later,_ ” Clarke sing-songed.

“ _Does she actually live on a fucking yacht?_ ” Octavia demanded.

Her question was met with non-committal sounds.

///

Abigail Griffin née Wyatt of the New England WASPy tradition had always enjoyed hosting and attending events with her best friend, Callie Cartwig. Clarke’s birth had been an opportunity rather than a hindrance to this particular hobby. After all, a newborn baby was the best accessory. (In fact, years later, Callie would say that she knew Clarke was a natural-born grifter from those very first appearances.)

The point of the matter being: Clarke Griffin had spent her entire life participating in these high society functions. Pretending to be a party planner? If only all her jobs were this easy.

“Mark, really? Flower arrangements next to the speakers?” Clarke asked condescendingly.

“My name is actually Jas—”

“Mark,” Clarke said quietly. Sternly. “Mark. Sweetie. Do you know what will happen when the band plays? Do you?”

“I—“

“The speakers will blast,” Clarke said, speaking over him, “and those tables will vibrate and shake. Do you know what will happen when the tables vibrate and shake, Mark?”

“Yes, I und—”

  
“Oh, so you do understand,” Clarke said, voice rising in volume. “Everyone stop what you’re doing, he understands!”

Mark-or-some-Jas-name paled and said, “I will move them right away, ma’am.”

As he scurried away, Anya, from across the room, whispered, “ _You didn’t have to be that much of a dick to get the point across._ ”

Clarke shrugged, though Anya wasn’t facing her, and said, “Yeah, but high profile planners are always this bad.”

“ _What’s your excuse the rest of the time?_ ”

“Well, when your boobs can rightfully be declared the 8th and 9th Wonders of the World…”

Anya sighed.

(They were pretty nice.)

“ _I mapped out all the blind spots using the security streams_ ,” Lexa said. “ _Clarke, I’m sending layouts to your PDA._ ”

“Got it.”

“ _I need you and Anya to plant hidden cams at the marked locations._ ”

Clarke angled her head slightly, scrutinizing the prints. “Mics?”

“ _Octavia’s on mic duty,_ ” Anya said.

“Anything else?”

“ _Ideally, you’d be able to get a look inside the vault_ ,” Lexa said. “ _But that might be pushing our luck_.”

As Clarke pondered Lexa’s words, she spotted their mark. Dark hair brushed up in a pompadour style, cool beady eyes, and an incessant sneer on his face. Cage freakin’ Wallace.

“No worries,” Clarke said, smirking. “I can swing it.”

“ _Keep your comms on_ ,” Lexa said, rigid tone leaving no room for argument. “ _And if you need emergency extraction, call for Anya_.”

“Yes, Commander,” Clarke said quite blithely. “But I will need to borrow Octavia for a night.”

“ _Excuse me? Like I’m some rent girl?_ ” Octavia sputtered.

“ _Sure, take her_ ,” Lexa said over Octavia’s protests. “ _You running the Golden Boos?_ ”

“Mhm,” Clarke said. “I’m surprised an honest citizen such as yourself knows that one.”

“ _I studied Liechtenstein’s death penalty laws last semester_.”

“ _What does that have to do with anything?_ ” Raven asked.

“ _Barbara Erni, also known as the Golden Boos, was the last person to be executed in Liechtenstein_ ,” Lexa said like it was pretty well known knowledge.

“Of course,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. “Admit it, you’re just as bad as us.”

“ _Well, I’m not a thief_ ,” Lexa maintained.

“True,” Clarke said. “At least, not yet.”

“ _Can we get back to the whole ‘renting out Octavia like she sells her time’ bit? ‘Cause I don’t know much about booze_ ,” Octavia said.

“Golden Boos,” Clarke said.

“ _B-o-o-s_ ,” Lexa supplied helpfully.

“ _I’m still hearing booze. Do I get alcohol?_ ”

“ _You’re underage_ ,” Lexa said.

“ _You’re all underage_ ,” Anya said, clearly irritated at being the only real adult.

“ _But Octavia’s more underage_.”

“I don’t think you can be more underage or less underage.”

“ _Hi, aren’t we running something here?_ ” Octavia interjected once again. “ _Or are we putting revenge on the backburner while you guys hash out the specifics of being underage?_ ”

“ _Please stop saying underage!_ ” Raven said.

“Okay, geez,” Clarke said. “Anya, you need to get a storage trunk and fill it with random shit. And by random shit, I mean no weapons of any sort. Nothing too big or bulky. Alright, here’s how the play goes...”

///

At precisely six in the evening Octavia filed the last documents away and packed up for the night. She walked the carefully pre-selected route (staircase B, 2nd door on the left, diagonal through the lobby), tracked every step of the way by security cameras. Turning left, she headed out of the front doors and slipped into the passenger’s seat of Lexa’s car.

Lucy Billings, the intern, was not seen again until the next morning at 10.

Octavia Blake, the thief, however. Well, she wasn’t seen either. But Octavia Blake, the thief, did indeed return to the museum.

It wasn’t exactly difficult. The museum had a vast air duct system; certain artifacts and sensitive scripts needed to be kept at exactly the right temperature throughout the entire day, after all. So for Octavia, getting in unseen was a cinch. Especially with Monty and Raven in her ear, guiding her. When she reached the place that Clarke had set as the drop-in point, Octavia laid on her stomach and decided to play Temple Run 2 on her phone.

///

“ _You sure you know what you’re doing?_ ” Lexa asked once again.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Clarke said, eyes fixated on Cage.

“ _I hate it when she says that_ ,” Raven said.

“Hush,” Clarke said. Then louder, “Mr. Wallace!” She flagged him down before he could leave for the day.

“ _I’ll increase the microphone sensitivity on Clarke so we can hear both sides of the conversation_ ,” Monty said.

Cage turned towards her voice, one eyebrow raised, and said, “Yes?”

“We met several years ago at Governor Jaha’s post-inauguration party,” Clarke said politely. Demurely, even. “My father used to golf with yours.”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Cage said a little too suavely. “It’s been a busy few years, and I’ve met a lot of people in a short time.”

“Clarke,” she said, offering her hand limply for a customary kiss rather than the more colloquial handshake. “I’m Jake and Abby’s daughter.”

“Ah, Ms. Griffin,” he said, bending and pressing his lips gently to her knuckles. The quick recognition of her family name was a testament to Cage’s upbringing. Especially since both Clarke and the Griffin name had stayed out of the spotlight after her father’s death. “And please, call me Cage.”

“Cage,” Clarke said, as if testing it out. She even managed a slight blush.

“ _She’s definitely going for an Oscar_ ,” Raven mumbled.

“Are you a connoisseur of the arts, Ms. Griffin?” he asked, extending an arm to her gallantly.

 _Wow_ , Clarke thought, _he thinks he’s practically Mr. Darcy or something_. Of course, she obliged his ego and took the proffered arm. Interestingly, he guided her towards the public exhibits.

“I’d probably describe myself more as an amateur aficionado,” Clarke said.

“I’m sure you’re just being humble,” Cage said. “So you’re here for pleasure then?”

“Actually, I’m working as Mila’s assistant.”

“Mila, the new planner?”

Clarke nodded. As they passed by the floor to ceiling glass windows in the front lobby, Cage steered them so they were facing the sunset. Fantastic mood lighting, really. _Buy a girl dinner first_ , Clarke thought.

“If you don’t mind me saying, that seems to be a very odd job for someone of your background,” he said.

“Oh, you know,” Clarke said with a dismissive wave of her free hand, “the economy these days.”

“I guess it’s gotten tough for everyone.”

“ _Boo. Hoo._ ” Octavia’s voice, sharp and derisive, hissed in her ear. “ _He’ll fucking live_.”

“ _In his gigantic penthouse apartment,_ ” Raven chimed in.

“My mother wanted me to get a little job experience too,” Clarke said with a small smile. “What’s an heiress to do, you know?”

Cage laughed.

“ _And here I thought she didn’t like to advertise it_ ,” Lexa said wryly.

Clarke faked a cough and turned her head to the side. She hacked out, “I lied.”

“Sorry?” Cage said.

“I just remembered that Mila wanted me to ask you something,” Clarke said. “I totally forgot.”

“Oh, how can I help?”

“There’re some things that can’t be set up until around two days before the event,” Clarke said, furrowing her eyebrow and looking skywards, as if trying to remember a list of items. “And she said she needs a place to store them, somewhere secure.”

“Secure?” Cage asked. “What kind of stuff does she need secured?”

“I’m not actually sure,” Clarke said. “She just said a small trunk of items.” Leaning closer, she placed a hand on his arm lightly and whispered conspiratorially, “Between you and me, I think she’s just paranoid from living in Russia for so long. You could totally just lock it in a storage closet.”

Cage’s mouth twisted in amusement. He shrugged, “I’ll do you one better. The vault that the museum uses for its more extravagant pieces is currently empty, so we can store her things there. Make sure you look real good in front of your boss, right?”

“ _No way_ ,” Octavia deadpanned. “ _There’s no way he just offered that without prompting_.”

“Really?” Clarke gasped, maybe a tad too enthusiastic. “You would do that?”

“I mean, I’ll have to see what’s inside the trunk, but as long as it’s not anything illegal and dangerous,” Cage said, “I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Of course,” Clarke said, tightening her grip on his arm just a little. “Yeah, of course! I’ll go tell Mila.”

Cage smirked, as if he had done her quite the favor. “I’ll meet you down in the basement corridor by the elevator.”

Clarke nodded and walked off to find Anya. As she did, she hissed, “That trunk better be ready, Anya. So help me if I find a bag of lye in there.”

“ _Calm down_ ,” Anya drawled. “ _Contrary to popular belief I do know what normal items are._ ”

“Octavia, are you in position?”

“ _Yep, been waiting five minutes now_.”

“I can open a ten second window for you to get into the trunk,” Clarke said.

“ _I could take Cage’s wallet and car keys and still make it with ten seconds_ ,” Octavia said.

“Fine,” Clarke said facetiously, “I’ll give you three instead then, just to make sure it’s really a challenge.”

“ _Could still do it in three_ ,” Octavia boasted.

Anya set a sizeable beige trunk on a dolly and wheeled it over, handing it off to Clarke. The elevator was old and creaky, taking longer than Clarke would’ve liked to get to the bottom floor. Finally, the doors opened to reveal Cage, absorbed with something on his phone.

“Here it is,” Clarke said, purposefully struggling to push it out of the elevator.

Predictably chivalrous, Cage stepped in to help her with it. Together they laid it down flat. Clarke popped the top up for him to inspect the interior. Truthfully, she was a little nervous for what they would find inside as well, despite Anya’s previous assurances.

She stifled her sigh of relief at the sight of packages of hooks and clips, masking tape, curling ribbons, and cellophane wrap. All normal supplies.

“Seems a bit odd that she’s afraid these would get stolen,” Cage said. “But it all looks fine. Shall we head to the safe?”

“Lead on, good sir,” Clarke said, shutting the trunk lid. When Cage moved to help her pull the dolly, she waved him off good-naturedly. “It’s my workout for the day.”

Straining with difficulty—almost comically really considering how lightweight it actually was—Clarke pulled the dolly while following him to the vault. Upon reaching the vault door, Clarke set the dolly flat again and moved closer to the vault door with Cage.

“Wow,” Clarke said, “this is pretty impressive. Especially since the elevator was ancient.”

“Well, don’t you have such varied interests, Ms. Griffin?” Cage remarked.

“My dad’s doing,” Clarke said solemnly. It was true. Truth was important when grifting. Grifters presented the truth in creative ways, they showed their marks what they wanted to see. “He liked fiddling around with security systems.”

“I was sorry to hear of his passing,” Cage said, sounding every bit as sincere as she did. He was good, Clarke could admit. “He was a great man. Full of integrity.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“ _I’m in_ ,” Octavia said. The sound of the trunk lid shutting once again was hardly noticeable. Clarke only heard it because she’d been expected it; even so, she wasn’t entirely sure that was what the sound was until Octavia had announced it.

Expression light again, Clarke said to Cage, “Sorry to be such a downer. I’ll hang back while you open the vault.”

“Not a downer at all,” Cage said graciously.

He pressed his ID card into the scanner, waiting until it beeped twice to pull it away. Then he punched nine numbers on the keypad. A loud beep signalled that the vault’s inner securities had been disabled. The final step involved Cage rotating the vault door’s locking mechanism—which had a close resemblance to a ship’s steering wheel— around and around, clockwise for two full turns then counter-clockwise for one and a half.

“Complicated,” Clarke said, half to Cage, half to her team.

“The combination changes every thirty seconds,” Cage said, offering up the information easily, and tossed a sidelong glance in her direction. _Men_. Clarke suppressed her intense urge to scoff but only just barely. “I have the rolling security key linked to my personal phone.”

“The museum allowed that?”

“We are their biggest donor,” Cage said. “Without us, they’d have to close. Besides, it’s only for the duration of my party.”

“We probably shouldn’t keep it open for too long,” she said, “in case the alarms reset or something.”

“No worries, they only reset automatically during the night.”

Though the trunk was now substantially heavier, Clarke’s previously overexaggerated efforts were now matched by genuine effort. To the unobservant eye it would seem that the weight of the trunk hadn’t changed at all. When the dolly was parallel to the carpeted concrete, Clarke pushed with an arm and a leg until the trunk tipped onto the floor.

Quietly, Clarke breathed out, “I’ll buy you a minute to case and exit.” Then to Cage, she said, “Whew. I’m out of shape.”

“Nonsense,” Cage said affably. “You don’t look it.”

Clarke struck his chest, laughing flirtatiously, and said, “Flatterer.”

“ _I’ve got the vault security cameras on loop for the next two minutes_ ,” Monty said. “ _Any longer and it’ll raise suspicion_.”

“Shall we return to the surface?” Cage asked, gesturing towards the exit.

“This might be weird to ask,” she said, “but could you show me how to lock up? I’ve always wanted to do it but playing with safes and vaults is apparently pretty frowned upon for ladies.”

“Sure,” Cage said with a smile and a wink. “I promise not to tell anyone.”

As they left the vault, Clarke pretended to have trouble pulling the vault door closed. Cage helped her, arms on either side of her body. Before the door could seal shut, she “tripped”, falling backwards into him. The giggle she expelled was probably the least convincing sound she’d ever made. Still, Cage laughed along with her.

///

Octavia hopped out of the trunk and used her phone to record a 360 degree comprehensive view of the vault. There were several things of interest, and she took pictures of those but was primarily focused on finding an exit. Vaults like these were always easier to exit than enter.

The temperature regulator meant that the vault had an airway, Octavia surmised, gripping along the wall. She took three large steps backward. Sprinting, she grappled up the wall with her bare hands and pushed off with her knee for the last leg of the leap. Her fingers scraped down the grill of the vent before catching on the edge. With tremendous effort she dangled by one hand and uncovered the vent cover with her other.

The rest was a piece of cake.

Speaking of cake…

“Anya,” Octavia hissed as she crawled through the vent system. “Remember the time you made black forest cake? That was awesome. Totally something you should do again.”

Anya sigh was clear over the comms.

“Like. Tonight.”

Illegal activity always made her crave chocolate.

///

Clarke smoothed her hand down Cage’s chest again as she laughed at whatever inane comment he’d made this time. It’d been well over a minute, she deemed.

“Oops,” she said with an unapologetic and goofy grin. “We should probably make sure the vault is secure before we get yelled at.”

“They won’t say anything,” Cage said amusedly. “Like I said, we’re their biggest donors.”

“Well, we don’t want anyone to interrupt either,” Clarke said, a little bolder than she’d been before. “Especially if we’re in the middle of _missionary_.”

Monty choked audibly.

“ _The hell?_ ” Octavia spat. “ _When I said fuck Cage Wallace, I didn’t mean_ fuck _Cage Wallace_.”

“ _‘Missionary’ is her extraction word_ ,” Raven said. “ _Clarke, I got you_.”

Cage raised an eyebrow, torn between slight confusion and outright agreement, clearly taken aback by her sudden forwardness.

On cue, Clarke’s PDA beeped insistently.

“Ugh,” she groaned, tearing her attention away from Cage as if it killed her to do so.

“Go on,” he said. “We have all the time in the world to revisit this.”

Clarke smirked and pressed a small kiss to his stubbled jaw.

“ _Missionary? Really?_ ” Octavia asked incredulously.

“ _It certainly befits someone of her… delicacy_ ,” Lexa said.

“ _As Clarke always says, ‘If I’m talking about anything as boring as missionary, then I need to get outta there ASAP,_ ’” Raven quoted.

“Damn straight,” Clarke said, finally out of earshot. “Thanks, Raven.”

“ _I can pick you up around back_ ,” Lexa said.

Clarke changed course. A free ride was a free ride.

///

As Clarke slid into the passenger seat of Lexa’s unbearably clean car, Lexa said, “I’ve got Clarke. Everyone meet back at Anya’s.”

Before she shifted out of park, Lexa tapped her earbud off and gestured for Clarke to do the same. Clarke felt a little like she’d been called into the principal’s office and was now waiting to be disciplined (and not in the fun way).

“What’s up?” Clarke asked.

“Today’s the most civil you’ve been with Raven,” Lexa said.

Clarke wasn’t sure exactly what she suspected. Maybe a stern lecture about using her real identity. Or general disapproval over her tactics. Something like that. Not a stray observation about her and Raven.

“I’m always civil,” Clarke said.

“You’re usually cold to her.”

“If you don’t have anything nice to say…”

“Raven said you two never really saw eye to eye,” Lexa said.

Clarke snorted.

“So far you have worked amicably alongside one another,” Lexa continued. “I just want to hear from you that you won’t let your personal feelings become a problem.”

“Personal feelings? You want to talk about personal feelings?” Clarke snapped. “This entire con is based on your personal feelings. It’s right on the edge of failing at any moment because of that.”

Pursing her lips, Lexa did not deign to reply to the accusation.

“Did I not just get us a look inside the vault? Has my performance suffered in any way?” Clarke demanded.

A long silence stretched between the two of them, Clarke determinedly staring out the side window, Lexa intensely focused on the road. Two miles passed before Lexa spoke.

“You’re right,” Lexa said softly. “I apologize. You’ve proven your skill and professionalism. I shouldn’t have questioned it.”

Irritation fading away, Clarke nodded, accepting the apology. Now that her anger had passed, she felt a little embarrassed for having been so defensive, for having overreacted to a simple request. The continued taciturnity felt suffocating all of a sudden.

“Ever been in love?” Clarke asked recklessly. She hadn’t put much thought into it, just one of those things people ask about, just wanted to have something to say.

Lexa’s answer was stiff and immediate, “No.”

“Ever been close?”

A long moment passed before Lexa said anything again, long enough that Clarke thought she might not get response.

Then, quietly, Lexa said, “... maybe.”

Clarke didn’t press it. She knew that tone of voice. It was like a DO NOT ENTER sign in bold white paint against a fire engine red background. Unknowingly, she’d pushed into territory as sensitive as her and Raven’s past issues.

But Lexa surprised her, continuing after a hard and unmistakable swallow.

“There was a girl,” she said, “that lived across the street. We were the same age and the only children on the block. We grew up together.”

“What was her name?” Clarke dared to ask.

Lexa’s tongue snaked out to wet her lips. Vaguely, Clarke wondered how long it had been since Lexa had said her name.

“Costia.”

“Tell me about her,” Clarke said.

“Another time, perhaps.”

The information Lexa had volunteered quite easily was more than Clarke expected and more than enough to satisfy her curiosity. Though Clarke made it a rule not to cold read teammates, some techniques were a force of habit more than anything. There was a girl, Lexa had said, distant look in her eyes. Clarke knew exactly what she meant.

“I was close too,” Clarke said, for a lack of anything else. “Close to being in love.”

“What was their name?” Lexa asked, mirroring Clarke’s question.

“Finn,” she said. “He was Raven’s boyfriend. Her best friend. So, that’s why things between me and Raven are… how they are.”

“Shouldn’t she be cold to you instead?” Lexa asked hesitantly. “If he was her boyfriend.”

“She was,” Clarke said, “for a long time. But then they boosted a bait car together last year. Raven was 18 and Finn was 17, so he decided to take the fall.” Her words had a casual air about them, like it was easy to discuss. Briefly, Clarke wondered if she was fooling either of them.

“And the police believed it was all his fault?”

“They only got caught because they crashed while arguing,” Clarke said. “Raven was hurt. Her… spine and leg… And Finn convinced them she had no idea it wasn’t his car. His family is well-off, and Raven had no one. He could take the mark on his record.”

“Where is he now?”

“Sent away,” Clarke said. “Apparently Arkadia was too much of a bad influence on him.”

“And you blame Raven,” Lexa said evenly, without judgment.

“No,” Clarke admitted for the first time. “I was the one who got him sent away.”

“He made his own choice,” Lexa said. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“No,” Clarke said more firmly. “I literally was the one who got him sent away. His parents were going to disown him for ‘besmirching the family name’ or something. I cut a deal with them.”

“A deal?”

Clarke smiled humorlessly. “Yeah, a business deal. That’s the kind of people his parents are.”

Lexa looked thoughtful, as if processing the details of the story.

“Raven doesn’t know that last part,” Clarke said. “If you could keep that between us…”

“Of course,” Lexa said.

Clarke was satisfied; Lexa definitely was not one to break promises. The only reason Clarke had survived this long in the game was that her instincts were usually correct. And Lexa’s eyes were always full of pride—not arrogance but dignity. She didn’t know if she’d go as far to say that she trusted Lexa with anything, but there was a certain flavor of principle about her.

“And it won’t be a problem,” Clarke said. “Me and Raven.”

“Thank you,” Lexa said.

The rest of the ride to Anya’s was a more comfortable quiet. This wasn’t what Clarke had expected, not even close. The conversation, the path it had taken, the tone they’d had, Lexa’s reactions. It was surprising. Though whether that was a good or bad thing Clarke had yet to determine.

///

“Run it, Monty,” Lexa said as she closed the front door behind Clarke. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”

Monty nodded and casted his phone’s screen onto the TV. “The paintings won’t arrive until the night before the event. Security will obviously be tight but we have no other window.”

From the loveseat, Miller said, “There’ll be ten guards patrolling the basement that night.”

Surprised to see another person, Lexa caught an extremely disgruntled Anya’s eye. Noticing the exchange, Octavia said, “He’s babysitting me.”

“And doing a damn good job,” Miller said, too solemn to be sincere.

“Tell me more about the guards,” Lexa said.

“They’re former military, private contractors,” he said. “Two will be posted at the vault door at all times. Four down the east corridors and four down the west.”

“Anya?” she prompted.

“Unless you’re going for a brute force strategy,” Anya said, “I would advise avoidance.”

“How about the security system?” Lexa asked.

“Getting into and out of the museum won’t be too difficult,” Octavia said. “The vault is another matter.” Monty brought up the pictures and recordings that Octavia had taken. “The vault is temperature regulated at all times, any large change will set the alarms off.”

“It can’t be disabled remotely either,” Monty said. “Has to be done either at the security hub or at the vault door.”

“O?” Lexa asked.

“The security hub is off the west corridor of the basement,” Octavia said. “I ‘got lost’ and talked to one of the dudes in there today, notably he was museum security though.”

“They’ll keep the museum security there,” Miller said, “since it’s for the entire museum’s security instead of just the private wing and vault.”

“So the security hub is our way in,” Lexa said.

“Wallace said the vault defenses automatically reset during the night,” Clarke offered.

“Probably on a randomized schedule,” Octavia said.

“Wallace also mentioned the rolling security key,” Monty said. “Now if it was one or the other, I’d say it’d be difficult to hack. But it’s both. Both means it’s impossible. I’m good, but no one’s that good.”

“I’d say you’re better than good,” Miller said.

Octavia rolled her eyes, “Ugh, come off it, Nate.”

“What about our exits?” Lexa asked.

“Loading dock adjacent to the vault,” Monty said. “It’ll also be under the jurisdiction of the museum’s security.”

“Raven?” Lexa asked.

“I can leave Lucille there overnight since she’s been painted like she’s with the planning company,” Raven said. “And Monty and I can hunker down in the back until it’s time.”

“So we have an exit and nothing else,” Octavia said.

“I’m so glad we’ll at least be able to leave the museum,” Anya said sarcastically.

“This is doable,” Lexa said, ignoring their comments, and stared at the edited floor plans on her individual monitor. “Yes, it’s completely doable.”

Clarke laughed and said, “Okay, so you want us to hack an unhackable security system and get by undetected under the noses of trained top-tier private security guards to steal an unstealable painting that may or may not be a myth?”

Lexa considered it for a moment before nodding and saying, “That sums it up quite nicely. Questions?”

The team members plus Monty looked around at each other before all shrugging.

“We’re already this far,” Raven said. “I guess I’m in.”

“I mean, I’ll be in a van pretty safe and sound,” Monty said.

“Well, I can’t let Cage Wallace get away with hurting Indra,” Octavia said. “So it doesn’t matter if this is possible or not. We’ll make it possible.”

Anya said nothing. That was as much agreement as they were gonna get from her, Lexa supposed.

Clarke shook her head disbelievingly and said, “You’re all crazy.”

“You can still back out if you want,” Lexa said, clasping her hands behind her back. “We won’t blame you. As I said, it is high risk.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said with a smile, “it is high risk. But if I let you guys do this without me, you’ll definitely get caught.”

Anya rolled her eyes.

“Let’s go become legends,” Clarke said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience and enthusiasm. I greatly appreciate all the kudos and comments.
> 
> Part 4 will follow in six days.
> 
> Two quick notes:  
> 1\. I may have underestimated how verbose I can be, so this may end up being 5 chapters. We'll see.  
> 2\. I'm a law-abiding citizen so I apologize for any inaccuracies in describing crime/security system. However, if you call me out for the mistakes, it will no-doubt make you seem highly suspect ;)


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